Tempting the Highlander (23 page)

Cyric Schellden was a rarity among men and she had fallen into the trap of believing him to be weak because he cared about what others thought of him. That because he desired respect he couldn’t command it. That a man needed to be unemotional to be a man. She had been wrong. Cyric was much more. And he thought she was pretty.

No, he had called her beautiful.
Did he mean it?
she asked herself. Her heart began to pound at the thought that he had not. Good Lord, had she fallen in love with the one Schellden every one of her clansmen wished would leave? Even as she asked herself the question, she knew its answer. She had. Rapidly and hard.

Rae Schellden spied the campfire and the two silhouetted figures sitting on either side. He could not make out either of their features, but he knew who they were and urged his horse to close the distance. He had been seething since leaving Caireoch and was not even close to becoming calm. Never before had anyone so openly defied his wishes and in a few moments he would know why.

Stopping his mount almost directly in front of the two squatters, Rae slid off his horse, glaring at Ian McHenry. He then shifted his gaze to his nephew. Cyric’s arms were stretched out toward the fire, trying to get warm. He was shivering and it wasn’t even cold. Bloody scratches were all along his legs as a result of riding through prickly thistle bushes instead of around them. Cyric’s riding skills were not in question. He could handle a horse, but did Lowlanders never ride at night?

Rae stepped out of the shadows and into the circle of light cast by the campfire. As if that was his cue, Cyric rose to his feet and sent him a beaming smile. “See, McHenry? Laird Schellden has come, as I promised.”

Rae clenched his jaw and said nothing.

Cyric was unfazed at the cool reception and walked over to his side. “I was explaining, Uncle, how you recognized that McHenry’s visit was not just about border raids, but something far more personal. Therefore, you wanted to handle it privately.”

Rae fixed his hazel eyes on Cyric’s golden ones, his expression unreadable. No one had ever dared to speak for him. And he would not be trapped into accepting a decision that he most clearly did not make. And yet his nephew continued to hold his gaze, unwavering. Cyric knew such actions were not just inexcusable but potentially deadly. But he refused to succumb to Rae’s intimidating glare. Cyric was making it clear that he had no regrets.

Breaking the gaze, Rae glanced at the man still sitting by the fire. The old man should have been entertained by the clash of wills. Conor McTiernay would have been on the ground laughing at the fact Rae’s nephew had dared to intercede in a clan decision. But Ian McHenry just stared into the fire.

“Speak your mind, McHenry.”

Black eyes swiveled to meet Rae’s. They were empty, angry, and in pain. Missing sheep were not behind this man’s suffering. Cyric had been right. Whatever trouble plagued Ian McHenry was personal in nature. Rae walked over and sat down. He would address Cyric’s methods later, but now was not the time. His focus turned solely on McHenry.

The old man, seeing that Schellden was finally ready to listen, wasted no time. “Your man Farlon has a son.”

Rae nodded once. “Tevus.”

Ian’s face became wooden with contempt. “Aye, Tevus,” he repeated coldly. “He got my daughter with child but Farlon refuses to let the boy do what he must.”

Damn. Tevus was barely fifteen and nothing close to a man. Not the choice a father would have for his daughter and certainly not one McHenry would have welcomed.

Rae leaned on his elbows and raked his hands through his hair. Cyric had been right to force this meeting. Being turned away as he had been, Ian McHenry would have resorted to violence to remedy his daughter’s honor. If what he claimed was true.

Rae looked up. “How do you know a Schellden is to blame for your daughter’s condition?”

The air became instantly still. “Are you calling my daughter a liar?” The tone of the simple question, though barely audible, held an ominous quality.

Rae didn’t flinch. “I’m asking if it is true.”

“Both she and Tevus claim it is his.”

Rae took in a deep breath. McHenry clearly hated the situation and did not consider a connection with a larger and powerful clan as advantageous. The man was fiercely independent. Farlon, if anything, was worse.

A farmer most of the time, Farlon was also a good fighter and one Rae depended upon when going into battle. For years, Farlon had despised Ian McHenry for pinching his cattle. Moreover, he had plans for Tevus to begin training this coming winter after the boy had finished helping prepare the land for winter barley.

Rae glanced to his left. Cyric was still shivering and most likely thirsty. No water bag was beside him or hanging off his horse just a few feet away. Rae suspected food and provisions to sleep outside had also been thoughtlessly left behind. Rae shook his head. “It’s hard to believe you’re a Highlander,” he muttered.

The harsh assessment got a reaction from McHenry, whose head shot up with surprise. The action clearly made it clear that Ian had been thinking the same thing.

Tired of being judged for not falling into a stereotypical description of what a Highlander was supposed to behave like and pretend to enjoy enduring, Cyric opened his mouth to defend himself.

Rae cut him off. “But at least you act on your convictions. When you rode out here and committed me into following you, it was to prove you understood the situation better than I. Let’s see if you can be as persuasive with Farlon. Tomorrow you get to finish what you started.”

Rae waited for Cyric to back out or make excuses as to why he had to return to the comforts of Caireoch, but no such pleas came.

“Don’t look discouraged, Uncle,” Cyric instead answered, with a hint of anticipation. “I just might surprise you.”

Three days later while journeying back to Caireoch Castle, Rae Schellden was more than surprised. He was still in a state of shock. Farlon had let Tevus marry Ian McHenry’s daughter and even gave the new couple the old cottage he had first built for him and his wife. Plus he and Ian had finally reached an agreement about stopping the raids upon one another’s stock. The solution was unconventional, but both parties benefited and it meant an end to the bickering.

And it was all because of Cyric.

When it came to negotiating, the man commanded authority. He was fair, courteous, and digested the complaints of both sides so that he understood the real reasons behind their pain. And when he did speak, people listened. Including him.

Cyric might have been far more capable than Rae had believed him to be. Maybe it was time to see how Cyric responded to some more difficult leadership situations. He said he was a master with a sword. Could he train men who already considered themselves skilled?

Chapter 15

After two days of being forced to remain in bed, Raelynd was eager to be released from confinement to do anything. So when Laurel mentioned that she would be gone for a few days and would require her and Meriel’s help, Raelynd leaped at the opportunity.

“Hurry, Meriel. Lady McTiernay is waiting for us,” Raelynd said impatiently as she watched her sister hunt for her missing shoe. “I thought being messy was supposed to help you find things faster.”

“Ah-ha!” Meriel called out as she unearthed the wayward item. “It does. Just imagine how long it would have taken me in a room like yours. I would have had to search everywhere versus just the floor.”

Raelynd shook her head, knowing this battle was unwinnable. “You would only have to look where it belonged.”

Meriel quickly slipped on the shoe and followed Raelynd down the stairwell and out of the tower. As they both walked the short distance to the Great Hall, Meriel noticed her sister’s gait was surprisingly fast for someone seriously injured just two days prior. “Doesn’t your leg hurt when you walk?”

“Just a little, but I don’t want Lady McTiernay to think I am incapable of helping. Besides, it is actually better when I move. It keeps it from becoming stiff.”

Meriel took a deep breath and let it out. “You seem very sure about what we are going to do.”

“Of course I’m sure. You are going to join the weavers and I am going to assist the steward in overseeing the castle. What else do we know how to do?”

Meriel shrugged, acknowledging the point. If they were to actually be of help, it would be in an area of their expertise. Still . . .

Meriel stopped just before tugging on the Hall’s door handle. “Have you noticed how every time we make assumptions with Lady McTiernay, we turn out to be wrong?”

Raelynd bit her bottom lip. Her sister had a good point, but it was too late now. “Well, whatever it is, it has to be better than lying in bed.”

Meriel opened the door and both women entered the large open room. Usually, it gave those who entered a warm feeling of welcome. Similar to Caireoch, the high ceiling was decorated with stone vault ribs. The room, which could be divided into smaller areas, each with its own hearth, was currently organized as a single meeting space. The spacious setting for only a few people made Raelynd uncomfortable. As if she was being led into a trap.

The feeling was only compounded when she saw Lady McTiernay’s guest. At the far end of the room, near the main canopy, sat Laurel and her best friend, Aileen. During the second dinner party held in this very room, Raelynd watched as the two conversed. They did not talk as most friends do. They liked to plan and did so mischievously. Raelynd knew, for she, Meriel and Rowena often conversed in the very same manner.

“Come! Come sit down and join us!” Laurel offered with surprising warmth. Such happiness compounded Raelynd’s anxiety. Meriel was right. Not all was as it appeared.

Raelynd slid onto the bench located at the end of the table and Meriel sat down right beside her. “You asked for our help, Lady McTiernay?”

Laurel smiled smoothly. “We are soon to be
family,
” she reminded them, hinting again of her skepticism. “So call me Laurel. And as far as help, it is much needed. Conor and I are going to be away for a few days and there is much to be done around the castle in our absence. Aileen will be watching my three along with her children, so she, too, will need assistance. It should keep you both fairly occupied and help prevent things from becoming too dull.”

Raelynd almost physically deflated with relief at the mention of supporting the castle. Meriel, however, thought both responsibilities sounded dreadful. “I’ll watch over the children,” she offered, hoping it might be an option.

Laurel shook her head. “You each have your strengths, but like everyone else, you have weaknesses as well. And as your guardian for the remaining two weeks of your engagement, it is my responsibility to prepare you as best as I am able for the role of wife.”

Meriel swallowed.
Wife?
She didn’t want to become a wife or knowledgeable on domestic matters. She preferred focusing her time on more enjoyable activities such as weaving and embroidery. “While I appreciate your concern, I don’t think it is really necessary.”

Laurel clicked her tongue and furrowed her brow disapprovingly. “Meriel, trust me when I say that it is. As a married woman, you will be responsible for maintaining a home. You told me yourself that you left such chores to Raelynd and I have noticed myself how you lock yourself in your room, completely unaware of all that must be done for you to eat and sleep, let alone weave.”

Meriel glanced at Aileen. The woman possessed small feminine features but she was not remotely petite. Unlike Laurel, she preferred an arisaid over a bliaut, wearing the colorful plaid like a shawl, with a large silver brooch fastened at her breast. Her arms were muscular from manual labor and her hair, just a shade darker than Raelynd’s, was tied with a large square linen kertch. This woman might have been a friend to Lady McTiernay, but she worked hard.

Meriel licked her lips nervously and said to Aileen, “I hope you don’t expect much.”

Laurel sat back and shook her head, pretending to be puzzled. “Meriel, I think you misunderstood.
You
are to assist Fallon in my stead. Raelynd will be with Aileen, handling her responsibilities while she watches over the children.”

Meriel felt her jaw drop as her heart began to pound hard, as if she had just run several miles.
Please,
she thought,
please change your mind
. She knew almost nothing of running a castle and had remained ignorant intentionally. The few aspects she was aware of seemed dreadful. Managing people, making decisions, fixing problems, dealing with sour personalities—there was never an end. Raelynd thrived on such authority. She should be the one taking Laurel’s place.

Raelynd agreed. “I don’t understand,” she gritted out, unable to hide her anger. Finally, there was an opportunity to cast off the cloak of pampered daughter and demonstrate her management skills, but she was not going to be allowed to take it. “I think I would be far more useful in the castle. I know what Fallon expects much better than Meriel and he is not going to want to train someone in the ways of running a castle.”

Laurel nodded her head and produced a slight grimace. “True. Fallon is not going to be pleased, but my decision still stands. It is unfair Meriel is completely unaware of all the work you do running Caireoch Castle for your father.” Then Laurel leaned closer so that Raelynd could see the seriousness swirling in her storm-colored eyes. “Experience of living another person’s life, even temporarily, can be invaluable, Raelynd. I won’t let anyone—including you—rob you of it.”

Less than an hour later, Raelynd was reiterating those words to herself repeatedly. Laurel had been completely inflexible and unwilling to listen to either her or Meriel about modifying the assignments. Not only were they to perform
all
the daily chores that she and Aileen were responsible for, their duties were to start right then.

Fallon had come in and announced that Laird McTiernay was ready to leave and that Laurel’s horse Borrail had been prepared and was waiting for her just outside the stables. Immediately, Laurel made her good-byes and departed, leaving Meriel in Fallon’s hands and Raelynd in Aileen’s.

Aileen had asked if she wanted to change into something more durable than her kirtle, but Raelynd already considered herself dressed for laborlike activities, opting for a simple velvety overtunic instead of a bliaut. Besides, Raelynd had nothing more durable than her kirtle to put on. And the option of wearing an arisaid was unacceptable. Such garments were for village clanswomen who worked for a living, not for the daughter of a powerful laird.

So without any further delay, Raelynd felt as if she had been conscripted as Aileen’s personal servant. If Laurel hoped to humiliate her with such a dictate, she was going to be disappointed. Raelynd refused to let her win. And if Laurel’s point was for Raelynd to learn a new skill, she would still be wrong for there was not one chore Aileen mentioned that she didn’t already know how to perform. No, for the next few days, she would do as requested and when she learned nothing from the
invaluable experience of living another’s life,
she would demand an apology. And she had better receive one or this farce was over. There was only so much her father could expect her to endure and she was hovering at that limit.

Fallon pointed his finger at the scullery and Meriel recoiled. A few days ago she had watched from the kitchens, which were only just bearable, as her sister and little Brenna made soap. She squeezed through the tight entrance and into the open, surprised that the outdoor space was far bigger than she had believed. To her right was a small area where buckets filled with water waited for either clothes or utensils. To the left was a long narrow garden ensconced between what had to be the Lower Hall and the outer curtain wall. A dirt path wound its way through various bushes, fruit and nut trees, and vegetable patches, enabling someone to come and pick what was desired for that day’s meal.

Fallon stayed inside the kitchen, refusing to attempt to squeeze through the unusually small opening. “Find Myrna. She’s Glynis’s daughter. Tell her that you are acting in Lady McTiernay’s stead.” Then, just as abruptly, he turned around and left, leaving Meriel to wonder how she was to know what to do and for how long.

Meriel stretched her neck, but she could not see the garden’s end nor someone who might be named Myrna. With a grimace, she began to meander down the twisting pathway when a very sharp thornbush caught the opening to her long sleeve.
No wonder Lyndee prefers kirtles,
Meriel thought to herself as she tried to free the delicate material from its captor.

“Here, let me help you,” came a high-pitched, but not piercing voice from behind.

Meriel looked back to see a very petite but busty young female hurrying to her side. Her dark brown hair was hanging in a single braid down her back, but its curly nature was evident despite its being tightly plaited. “There,” she said as she liberated Meriel’s sleeve. “I’m Myrna and you must be Meriel.”

Meriel stood with her mouth open for a few seconds before replying, “How did you know?”

Myrna’s laughter had a musical quality to it and instead of coming across derisive it invited one to join in. “Your sister was back here one time and I asked how to tell you and her apart. Her answer was to just look at your faces. The one who looks completely lost and uncomfortable would be her sister, Meriel, or well . . . you.”

The answer made complete sense and it would be something Raelynd would have told someone who spent their time in scullery gardens. “I . . . I am here to help. Or to find you. Or to order you to do something. Or . . .” Meriel said rapidly, stumbling over the words. “Myrna, I have no idea what I am here for. Lady McTiernay wants me to be her while she is gone and I have not a hint at what that means or entails.”

The surprised expression on Myrna’s face made it clear that none of the servants had been told of Laurel’s decree. Thankfully, Myrna recovered quickly. “I shall pretend you are Lady McTiernay . . . and that you cannot remember anything about our normal routine. Would that work?”

Meriel nodded in relief and began to weave her way through what she learned were onions and beets, discovering how to decide which vegetables were ready to be picked. In the end, it was the Lady of the Castle’s decision as to what was to be eaten that day. But before the meals could be prepared, Meriel would have to find out which crops had been harvested from the larger fields and what meats were available from the morning’s hunt. Never did Meriel realize how much went into preparing a simple meal for so many. But she had been given little time to dwell on the concept before being ordered to oversee another chore.

“Lady Meriel?”

Meriel immediately stood up, embarrassed to have been caught sticking her rear in the air as she inspected the rushes in the Lower Hall. Food and drink had spilled everywhere their first night due to the fight between Conan and his brothers. Fallon had left her there with the charge of deciding just which rushes should be replaced. Meriel’s first response—to just replace them all—had been met with a withering glare and a lecture about wasting time and money required for necessary things. Yet when she asked why replace them at all then, Fallon’s contempt more than doubled and he gave another sermon on the perils of inviting unwanted creatures.

Meriel wiped her hands on her dress, no longer caring if her bliaut remained clean. She had always thought the Lady of the Castle directed activities from afar, not in person. No wonder she rarely saw Raelynd during the day. “I am Lady Meriel.”

The older clansman took a step closer and nodded with relief. “I’m Jaime Darag.”

Meriel looked up, understanding why he was named after an oak tree. The man stood nearly seven feet tall, hunched. “Aye, Jaime, how can I help you?”

“I am the main candle maker for the McTiernays, my lady, and it being Monday, I am to make the candles for the stairwells, hallways, and servants’ quarters.”

Meriel stared at him, wondering why he was talking to her. He obviously knew what needed to be done. “Do you need to know how many to make?” she guessed.

Jaime chuckled. “No, my lady. I know the number, but there is no tallow in the storehouse and without it I cannot make the candles.”

“Oh, you need to find Fallon, Jaime. I’m sure he knows where the tallow has been moved.”

The old man looked at her strangely and said, “The steward told me that you were seeing to such matters.”

Meriel grimaced, remembering the candles in the North Tower stairwell and how most of them had already been consumed and needed immediate replacement. She had no idea what tallow even looked like let alone if Lady McTiernay had any. “Is there nothing else you can make candles out of?”

“I could make them with beeswax, my lady. But I need permission.”